Doc stared out the window, wondering if he could get into Leech’s head, knowing that Leech had been inside his.
He could.
‘He was alive.’
‘How can you be so sure? This guy’s so far off the rails he’s in the ticket office!’
‘He’s not psychotic. He’s rational. But also very angry.’
‘Not psychotic? Are you kidding me Doc? He’s a loon! He stabbed and fucked a fat old man. Get real.’
‘There will be a rational reason for it, in his mind at least.’ Doc revisited his interview with Sade, thinking through what had sparked the attack on her. ‘It’s most likely something Gruber said that prompted the action. Not voices in Leech’s head, telling him what to do, Jack. Gruber’s words initiated it.’
Not psychotic. But thinking of voices had Doc wondering about himself again.
‘Right...’ Carver did not sound convinced.
‘Trust me. He’s bad, not mad.’
The car swerved to the kerb and they jumped out, entered Gruber’s office. A middle aged lady was weeping in reception, being attended by a WPC.
Carver whispered to Doc as they passed them, ‘The secretary. She found him.’ Then he shook hands with another detective, thanked him for letting them in on the investigation.
‘We could do with any help you can give us Jack. I’ve got an incident suite arriving, we’re setting up on the road outside. At this stage we can’t be sure it’s your man.’
Carver turned to Doc. ‘A neighbour saw a cab outside for about half an hour round the time of the murder. Gruber was killed during the fifty minutes his secretary was out of the office. A man was seen leaving. Roughly matches Leech’s description.’
The other detective then said, ‘If you want to take a look you can. The ME and forensics have released the scene to me. If you’ll excuse me I’ve got a lot to organise.’ He left them to enter Gruber’s room alone.
The solicitor was spread-eagled face down on his desk, head resting to one side, a brass letter opener protruding from his upturned temple. There was surprisingly little blood.
‘Apparently he was partially throttled Doc, probably just fingers. The coroner will be able to tell for sure. Buggered and knifed.’ The office was littered with papers, the drawers and cabinets wide open. ‘Seems like he was looking for something.’
‘I agree. It’s not a staged burglary.’ Doc was pensive, absorbing the scene.
‘No. Your common or garden thief doesn’t usually stop for sex. Most of the amateur burglars are so nervous they shit themselves. Leave the place smeared with their mess.’ His tone was level, no feelings evident. Just a statement of a sad fact of life.
‘Our man doesn’t suffer from nerves. He has no fear of being caught, at least not in the sense of experiencing anxiety. He may prefer not to suffer the consequences, but then again he may choose not to acknowledge them.’ Doc had walked round the desk. Gruber’s shirt was pulled up his back, his trousers securing his ankles, his legs and butt were naked.
‘No fear huh?’ Carver was peering at the entry wound. ‘I think he took his time with this.’ There were numerous speckles around the wound as if pricked with the knife before it was forced in.
Doc stooped to see.
‘Yes... Throttled his victim to subdue him. Had his way and then held the knife to his temple. Talked to him for a while.’
‘Yeah? You can tell all that? So, what’d he say Doc?’
Carver was not kidding, he knew from past experience Doc would have some ideas.
He carried on with his inspection while Doc pondered.
It took only a few moments before he answered.
‘I think he explained.’
‘Explained?’
‘Yes. I think he explained why Gruber needed to die this way.’ Doc was staring at the corpse, but he was seeing Leech crushing the man’s throat as he held him, abusing his body. Then, subdued, still being pinned by Leech’s weight, the words whispered into the solicitor’s ear as the knife twitched against the man’s temple. ‘I think he wanted his victim to understand. He needs something... What it is, I’m not sure yet.’
‘You’re convinced it’s him?’
‘Oh yes. You’ll find his prints on the knife, on Gruber’s desk, his throat. Even some DNA inside the man, no doubt. If he bothered trying to cover his tracks it will be rudimentary. He thinks he’s invulnerable. That we won’t catch him.’
‘Don’t they all Doc?’ Carver was riffling through papers now, not looking for anything specific, just doing the random detective thing that Doc found so fascinating. Many times he had seen Carver stumble on a critical piece of evidence, the needle in a haystack, in this apparently haphazard way.
‘Not all. Some want to be caught. I don’t think Leech is one of those. Though he may not care either way.’
‘Great.’ Carver was sarcastic.
Doc reviewed the scene again, the papers littering the floor, the drawers tugged open.
‘He was after something here too. Some information. Something on paper. Or in here...’ He indicated the top of Gruber’s head.
‘Yeah?’
‘Yes. He gouged Gruber’s brain as if to scoop something out... Or maybe destroy something in there. Maybe he knew too much?’
‘Dangerous game, playing with fire. Gruber had so many dodgy clients he was bound to get burnt in the end.’ Carver’s mobile buzzed. A moment later he finished the call and said, ‘We’ve convinced a judge to issue a warrant already. This solicitor may have been a friend to the underworld and as bent as a paperclip, but he was still a member of the legal profession.’
‘Leech’s apartment?’ Doc did not expect them to find much there, after all, Leech had only been living there a few days.
‘Oh yes.’ Carver’s voice was etched with the acid of irony. ‘A battered prostitute’s word is not reason enough, but Mr Gruber’s corpse apparently is.’ He took a last look around the room and said, ‘Let’s go.’
Doc was thinking about Judy, keen to get back to her. ‘You want me to come to?’
‘You betcha.’
He shrugged and followed the detective out.
***
Carver had three burly uniformed PCs to help him serve the warrant. He told Doc to wait to one side of the door.
The detective knocked. No answer.
Carver stepped aside, joining Doc as one of his constables moved into position, a steel battering ram dangling from his arm. Three blows later and the frame and lock splintered.
As the door swung open Doc pushed himself forward and caught sight of the man’s legs.
‘It’s not him.’ He felt it. Then, for a split second, two green eyes hovered, disturbing his vision.
Disturbing him.
Not now!
‘No.’ Carver and his men were inside already. The constables searched the flat for Leech – it took just seconds – while Carver checked the man. ‘Dead... And your parolee’s flown the coup. Looks like he’s out of control now Doc.’ His anger was not directed at Doc, more likely the system that allowed men like this to walk among the innocent again.
‘He’s not. He’s in control. At least in his mind. Is it a neighbour?’
Carver gave him a strange look. He was still crouched by the body, had taken a wallet from a bulging pocket, had been reading something inside.
‘Tom Colvin. He lived next door... That’s freaky Doc. How d’you do that?’
Doc did not answer, just took in the state of the apartment, the shattered table, the litter of food and cartons, the smell of decay already taking hold.
Carver made a call and then said, ‘Well Doc. This crime scene is well and truly compromised. I’ve got a forensic squad on its way so we’ll seal it off. Not much doubt though. Looks like he ruptured the man’s throat.’
Colvin’s face was contorted with agony, his last moments a desperate struggle for oxygen as his own throat betrayed him, choking him to death.
‘Yes. I think we’ll find
Mr Colvin offended Leech in some way.’
‘No shit Sherlock!’
‘Verbally. Insulted him? Complained about noise perhaps?’ Doc was staring at the remnants of the table, thinking of Leech’s rage. ‘He struck at the source of his distress. The man’s voice... His throat. Different modus operandi but still strikingly similar to the knife in Gruber’s temple. He goes for the thing that upsets him, homes in on it instinctively.’
‘This is one sick puppy we have here.’
‘Sick? Not in the medical sense. He may not seem it, but he’s rational. And he won’t return here.’
‘So, no point staking it out? You sure?’ Carver frowned.
‘You’ve had police here looking for him earlier, knocking, but not authorised to enter.’
‘Yeah.’
‘He won’t be back.’
‘So where is he Doc?’
‘Now that... I can’t answer.’ He paused, reflecting. ‘But I think I know where he’ll go.’
***
Josh had been thrilled when he arrived at the police station, jabbering about the ride over. The police driver had blue-lighted and used the siren to satisfy the schoolboy, speeding through town despite having no genuine reason to do so.
Judy had held her son for too long when he arrived, crushing him to her breast, determined to protect him, not let him be harmed. He had squealed, ‘Mummy, you’re hurting me,’ before she had put him down.
Gran arrived soon after and took Josh off to play in an area the station provided to amuse fractious children while their wayward parents were being interviewed.
Judy’s head ached. It was now two hours since Gran had whisked Josh away, and she had been listening to the eerie voice, amplified through loudspeakers, forced to re-live her interview with Leech.
Doc had arranged for her to sit with a stenographer who was transcribing for him, and he’d told Judy, ‘Make notes. If you remember anything...’
‘Like what?’
‘The way he was. The words on the recording will tell me some things. But you may be able to tell me more. Just jot down anything that occurs to you. Okay?’
She’d smiled, said, ‘Fine,’ but doubted she could remember much. She was convinced time had placed a barrier between her and her interview with Leech. It no longer gripped her with dread.
At least, until now.
When she heard that voice, wheedling, probing her, she felt physically sick. She had listened, her horror worse than the actual meeting, this time tinged with half-remembered anticipation of the words to come and the knowledge that he was obsessed with her. Eventually she had settled down, but she knew her nights would be disturbed by refreshed memories of the man.
The stenographer finished and went to organise transcripts, taking Judy’s notes with her. Doc arrived shortly after.
She was lost in thought as he entered the cramped room, more a cubicle really, a technical office stuffed with computer screens, DVD players, tape decks, control panels and other items she could not identify.
Doc came to her. They hugged. Judy felt drawn to him, and was sure he felt the same. Holding him, in his arms, she felt some relief and her shoulders relaxed. Despite everything, she had this man. She was grateful for that. So grateful.
He pulled away from her, still holding her, eyes intense. ‘He’s killed at least twice that we know of.’
She was stunned. Unable to speak.
‘One of the bodies was in his apartment. There’s not much doubt in Carver’s mind, and I’m one hundred percent certain. He’s extremely dangerous. Possibly for you too...’
She had been thinking about this. ‘Surely he won’t hurt me. If, as you say, he thinks he’s in love with me. Is obsessed, like you said.’ She so desperately wanted to believe it. Especially now. Especially after his voice had invaded her again.
‘Sit down my love.’ Doc pulled a chair to face hers. They sat, knee to knee, holding hands. ‘If he does feel anything for you... it’s not love. At least, not as we know it.’
‘Can you really know what’s in his head?’ She respected his opinion, but wanted to reassure herself, was reluctant to believe she was truly this madman’s target.
‘I am as certain as I can be about this. To Leech love is a mixture of sexual desire and an urge for control over his victim.’
‘Victim? We are talking love aren’t we?’
‘No! Not as you or I feel it.’ He was struggling to explain. Judy was patient, determined to understand, as he added, ‘He is not looking for a partnership of equals. A trophy... perhaps. A possession, oh, definitely. The good news is that reality may disturb his fantasy. Throw him.’
‘What? If I turn out differently to how he imagines?’
‘Exactly.’ She could see him agonising over what to say next. ‘Judy. We will catch him. We’ll protect you. I’ll protect you. You and Josh can stay at my home until this is over. Jack Carver is arranging personal security for you too. You’ll be safe...’
‘But?’ She knew there was more.
‘I need to hear the interview. Check your notes. We could still be wrong. I don’t doubt he has some fantasy about you. I need to see how deep it goes...’
‘Yes. But?’ It was still there, the unspoken something. She had to drag it from him.
‘If you don’t measure up. To his idealised view. He may well discard you... Or he could kill you.’
‘Well that’s not going to happen.’ She clutched his hands, her life threatened yet she was comforting him. ‘I’ll stay with you. Josh too. Mum’ll want to come over – and take over your kitchen.’ She shaped her facial muscles into a smile. ‘He won’t ever get close enough to harm me. Fair enough?’
He held her then and she realised how Josh must have felt earlier when she had almost smothered him.
***
John Finch did not sleep much on the transatlantic flight, despite the much feted ‘bed class’ seats the airline charged so much for. The takeover he was working on was almost complete, albeit at a critical stage, but his barrister had called to tell him he must return to the UK if he wanted to protect his right to spend time with Josh.
The lawyer had told him, voice booming over the long-distance line, ‘The judge will take a very dim view of an absentee father who won’t even make the effort to attend a hearing concerning the welfare of his own son.’
He had replied, ‘Surely you can argue the case for me. Or postpone it... This deal I’m working on is massive.’
‘You’re charged with reckless endangerment and this matter is not something the court will defer. Is this deal more important to you than being able to spend time with Josh?’
John had agonised over that. Finally he relented, booked the flight to arrive back for Monday. He had spent the last week, including his weekend, working at fever pitch to set things up for his absence, and was now fretting about all the things that could go wrong without his presence.
He was still worrying about work as he drove from Heathrow to his Berkshire home, a short run on the M4 and then some twisting country lanes to negotiate outside Windsor.
He called his colleagues in the US for the second time since landing and they tried to convince him they were coping just fine without him.
Normally he took pleasure from handling his Jaguar sports saloon, but this afternoon he was pre-occupied with work. And his son.
Damn you Judy!
What was wrong with the woman? Was it just spite? Did she resent the time he spent with their son?
That made no sense. She had been fine about the arrangements. Until the accident. And that was all it was, an accident. Well he would meet with his barrister tomorrow. Judy’s shark of a lawyer had pushed to expedite proceedings this week, scheduling the hearing for Wednesday.
Sarah the shark. He had never liked her. Ever since she knocked him back when he’d tried it on with her at university. Told him to Piss off! just because he’d been screwing Judy at the time.
Now she and Judy were apparently co
nvinced he would not turn up. What did Sarah say to his lawyer? Oh, he won’t be back. He cares more for money than his kid.
Well, he’d show them. In fact he couldn’t wait to see their faces when he arrived in court on Wednesday. Stupid cows, the pair of them.
He turned into his drive, pressed his remote control and waited a few seconds as the wrought iron gates swung open. He drove up to his imposing home, gravel scrunching under the car’s fat tyres, allowing himself a moment of self-congratulation. The building was not visible from the road, but as he rounded the sweeping bend, his beautiful Queen Anne mansion came into view. It never ceased to give him a thrill.
The grounds extended for eight acres, and he employed a full-time gardener to keep it well manicured. He also had a cleaner-cum-housekeeper who would cook for him if he desired. Not tonight though, he would be alone, which was fine by him. He would set up a video-conference with New York. No point allowing things to go too long without his input.
With that thought, and convinced of his own indispensability, he left the Jag in his huge garage, disabled the alarm system and entered his home.
***
It was shortly after five in the evening and John felt refreshed. He had showered earlier, and now held a glass of red wine in one hand and a rolled up twenty pound note in the other. He threw back his head, drew in air through his nostrils so hard the sides were collapsing in on themselves, and felt the rush. Cocaine no longer gave him the thrill it had when he first experienced it, but it still had the power to spread euphoria through his being, boosting his confidence.
Skewing his judgement.
He licked his finger and tapped the few dregs of powder from the table onto the tip, then massaged it on his gum.
Yes... Tomorrow he would see that private investigator his barrister had arranged to dig some dirt on Judy. John had initially resisted the idea, but had been convinced by the brief’s argument – better to fight and win even if you have to resort to dirty tricks.
And anyway, she’d started it.
He was about to phone his brief when he was interrupted by someone banging on the front door. The massive chunk of teak had black cast iron furniture, including a giant knocker. It was that knocker he heard now.
Remorseless: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate #1) Page 23